


Be Done With All The Rest

by dazedream



Category: CLAMP - Works, Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Gift Fic, Hugs, Multi, Tsubasa Family Feels, no srsly lots and lots of hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazedream/pseuds/dazedream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas across the dimensions and hugs for all - especially Kurogane. CLAMP Secret Santa fic for Zelinxia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Done With All The Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zelinxia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelinxia/gifts).



> *grovels at zelinxia's feet* ...I'm so sorry at how late this is. I am a terrible person. *hides in corner* BUT IT'S FINALLY DONE. FINALLY.
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> Happy extremely extremely late holidays, [Zelinxia](http://zelinxia.tumblr.com)! I was their Secret Santa, and they wanted Kurogane getting hugs because he's the best papa and one giant teddy bear (*chorus of awwww's*). I hope I've obliged! This is set post-series, so all the angst and important plot stuff is well out of the way - leaving space for _ridiculous amounts of sap_ (TM) - but is also vaguely AU, because Sakura has continued traveling with the group. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas, and I hope you enjoy your present!
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> This was supposed to be a 'five+one times' fic and ending up being four+one times because ~~there's only so far I can stretch my creativity~~ this is stupidly long already, and has taken far too long to complete. Fair warning, the sections are pretty uneven in length, something that bothers me quite a bit, so if it bothers you too, I'm very sorry, but I felt that getting it out was more important than more worrying and pedantry. 
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> Unbeta'd, any and all mistakes are mine.
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> Title from the line 'So fill your heart with what's important, and be done with all the rest' from _The Last Lost Continent_ by La Dispute.
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> Endless thanks go to my dear friend Alex, for all the cheerleading and support, and for stubbornly dragging my spirits up each time I was down in the dumps. You rock, lovely. ♥♥♥
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> (No, seriously, beware of the sap. Plot lies not before you, only endless fluff.)

(one)

Kurogane’s sensitive nose is assaulted the second he steps through the door, carrying an armful of the firewood he’s spent the last hour and a half painstakingly chopping in the freezing cold, while the birds twittered senselessly from the top of the trees and the icy air turned his nose moistly red. Dozens of different conflicting scents float up from the pointlessly scented candles that are littered across the windowsills and tabletops, the big green tree in the corner has its own woodsy musk and something that smells a little bit like cinnamon is bubbling cheerfully on the stove to the tune of Fai’s whistling.

He announces his return to the house with a loud “hmph”, stamping his feet on the mat to loosen the snow that stubbornly sticks to the soles of his boots and struggling out of his heavy outer coat. Eventually he gives up and toes his boots off, abandoning them by the tacky, cheerful “Welcome!” mat and leaving his coat on one of the empty brass hooks.

There are holes in his socks and his toes peek out, white and bloodless. The soles of his feet are numb, too, but Kurogane manages to work up a pretty impressive stomp as he marches into the front room (barely managing to avoid tripping over the boxes of decorations stacked just outside the door) and deposits the frozen branches by the fireplace. By the time he’s loaded a couple of stout logs into the hearth and prodded the sparks to life he can almost feel his fingers and toes again. The flames hiss and spit a siren song, twisting alluringly in the grate, sending out waves of heat that roll over him and seep into the frozen marrow of his bones. He hadn’t even _realised_ how cold he was.

With a sigh, his spine unlocks from the rigid, hunched stoop it had frozen into while he hacked away at the logs outside, getting them down to manageable sizes for the fireplace and nearly freezing several well-loved appendages off in the process. Unless there’s a dramatic upwards temperature change he’ll be glad not to have to leave the house for the rest of their stay here. If he can wrangle someone else into chopping the firewood, that is. It would be good character-building for the kid, he muses, stripping his gloves off and stretching his hands out over the fire, and that would mean he could stay curled in bed with Fai all day. God, does that sound like a breath of fresh air right now. The mage may be skinny and bony – it was kind of awkward to cuddle with him until they figured out the way their bones click together like missing puzzle-pieces – but he can accumulate blankets and pillows and sheer _warmth_ like nobody else Kurogane knows.

“You’re back, Kuro-tan!” The blonde idiot in question sweeps into the room like an elegant, spice-scented breeze, all long legs and pale gleaming hair and brilliant eyes like the sky just after sunrise. “My, you look cold.” Kurogane is valiantly _not_ shivering, but he doesn’t protest when the mage scoops a rug off the back of the sofa and drapes it carefully over Kurogane’s shoulders.

“Mmmm, and look at all that firewood. That should last us the rest of the day, at least.” Fai’s use of firewood is, to say the least, uneconomical. In any case, they’ll be staying warm, even if more back pains and an aching shoulder seem imminent in Kurogane’s future.

“The children are just finishing wrapping up the presents they got each other – it’s so sweet! They’ll be down in a minute. We’re going to decorate the tree!”

That damned tree. Green and looming in the corner, bigger than they conceivably should have been able to fit through the door – the only thing Kurogane is grateful for is that his part is done and he doesn’t have to have anything to do with it anymore. The four of them had trekked out into the forest in the early morning just the day before, when chilly mist still clung low to the ground and the sun was not strong enough to burn through the pale skeins of grey cloud that obscured the sky. The kids had chosen the tree, Kurogane had hacked it down and carried it back to the house, Fai had decided the particular corner it would be crammed into and spent hours telling Kurogane to twist it this angle and that until he was sure the placement was utterly perfect.

They don’t have an angel or a star to place atop the tree, as seems to be the tradition in this world, because Mokona saw the bare branch sticking out at the top and declared that she’s found her true purpose in life (or at least for the holiday season). The others, of course, did nothing but encourage the stupid bun; Fai fixed her a glowing halo, Sakura stiched tiny sequins onto her cloak and Syaoran constructed a small platform to attach to the top of the tree so she can sit there comfortably. Kurogane trims the tree down so Mokona can fit between the tree and the ceiling, after several pointed prods about how with his height he’s the only one who can reach. Their own damned fault for choosing a tree that’s so ridiculously _big_ , Kurogane thinks, but he does it anyway. He doesn’t need another lecture on ‘holiday spirit’ from Fai.

Speaking of the mage, he’s humming and fetching the box filled with their purchases from the market the day before (the ridiculous amounts of money they’re spending in this country makes Kurogane’s _head_ hurt. And they’ve only been here two days! Thick winter clothes, gifts, decorations and that’s on top of basic living expenses, like food and the cost of renting this cottage. His childhood wasn’t just learning how to swing a sword and fend off demons, after all – the long afternoons spent poring over arithmetic, learning about taxes and tithes and subtracting this year’s crop total from last year’s aren’t easily forgotten. He had been young and far more interested in running about with his father and learning new sword-techniques, but he knew even then there was more to being a lord than just being the best with a blade. The thought of leaving their accounts to Fai to manage is rather less than reassuring, but he’d rather the mage did it and kept it out of Kurogane’s mind than what would inevitably happen. Kurogane’s not good with words; he’s more likely to end up blowing a fuse than calmly and reasonably explaining to Fai why his spending is utter lunacy. And nothing would come of it except getting giggled at and being labelled a ‘Scrooge’. Whatever the hell _that_ is.).

Reluctantly, Kurogane shifts away from the warmth of the fire and drags himself over to the sofa. Sitting down, he lands on something rectangular and firm. Not his manga, as he had half hoped when he drew it out, but a book he recognises as one Fai sometimes takes out in the evenings, with a hard cover embossed with shiny runes that might read ‘cat food’ for all he knows of them. It’s about magic, of course, but there isn’t anything else to keep him occupied, so he opens the book at the beginning and tunes out Fai’s humming. Kurogane only understands around two-thirds of the terminology used, and the runes shown all blur together into incomprehensible squiggles after a few chapters, but it’s interesting enough to hold his attention as the ice-crystals in his hair turn to water and slide down the back of his neck.

Fai is pottering around the room, clearly waiting for the two absent youngsters to arrive before starting the decorating, although he’s already wrangled a string of glowing lights around the tree from top to toe. But sure enough, in a few minutes, Kurogane hears the thunder of eager feet making their way out of the bedrooms and down the stairs.

“Welcome back, Kurogane-san!” Sakura chimes as she blurs past him and slaps a hand down on one of the tree branches. “I win, Syaoran-kun!”

Syaoran follows just a second later, red-cheeked and grinning widely, and congratulates her. They’re both holding brightly-wrapped packages which Fai directs them to set down beneath the spreading boughs of the tree.

Sakura turns to him, jade-green eyes wide and sincere, and Kurogane’s first reaction is ‘ _uh-oh’_. But all she does is bow her head respectfully. “Thank you for chopping the firewood, Kurogane-san. It’s really cold out there and it must have been very hard work. Is your shoulder okay?”

“It was cold,” Kurogane says, stunned into the obvious. “But I’m fine now. You’re welcome?”

“You look frozen, Kuro-sama. And I’ll be having a look at that shoulder later, don’t you think I won’t.” Kurogane opens his mouth to respond and is cut off by another blanket flopping onto his head. Fai floats away – not even _trying_ to look innocent – to fix one of the paper snowflakes that they’ve stuck to the window. It’s probably a couple of degrees out of line with the others or something, but Kurogane can appreciate Fai’s desire to make this time as perfect as it can be. They’re at peace and rest for once.

“I’ll help next time.” Determination is blazing in Sakura’s eyes, radiating from her every pore. Behind her, Syaoran has adopted a similar pose. It’s the one thing they both do so well.

“Me too!”

“Mokona will come!”

“It looks like you’ve all got this covered, so I’ll stay inside and have dinner ready when you return.”

“ _Mage_ …”

“It’s getting late~ Shouldn’t we start on the tree now, children?”

With great ceremony, Fai peels back the first layer of tissue paper from the box and begins to pass the decorations on to the kids, who take them reverently in cupped palms and bring them over to the tree.

Little blown glass birds with great sweeping tails that curl upwards like rising smoke; garlands woven of silver and white ribbon and strings of pale luminescent pearls; jubilant red baubles dusted with glitter; gold velvet bows; carved wooden soldiers; and whatever other little trinkets and oddments that caught the children’s eyes at the market.

Kurogane would wonder how they're going to get all of them on the tree, but he’s caught up in a particular section about the use of _conduits_ (most mages choose to use staffs or wands, but other things can be used as well; weaponry, for one example, and especially swords and daggers). Most of it is alien to him, like everything else in the book, but some parts are similar enough to his own sword techniques to be attention-grabbing.

He comes out of his bubble sharply as Fai taps his shoulder, reality falling neatly into place around him. He hasn’t been away of anything but the feel of paper between his fingers for he doesn’t know how long. Blinking, he realises his eyes ache from staring at the small print and complicated curling runes for too long. The tree is lit and decorated, glowing bright enough to rival the crackling fire in the corner. Fai’s balancing a plate of ice gingerbread cookies and a tray with mugs of hot cocoa in his arms in front of him, grinning like a madman. Mokona has appeared at some point and the number of presents under the tree has increased greatly.

“Move over, Kuro-bun,” he says cheerfully. “We’re opening the presents now. And have some gingerbread, you must be starving.”

Kurogane takes a cookie and shifts to the end of the couch accommodatingly. Fai hands the cocoa and cookies out to the others, and fusses around for a good while, making sure everyone is settled with refreshments and a present or two on their lap. He returns to Kurogane finally with a small box each for them. Kurogane stares at them in unconcealed confusion. “From the children,” Fai whispers, and something strange creeps into Kurogane’s eye. He clears his throat gruffly and takes the package offered to him.

“You go first!” Sakura says, though the excitement and anticipation on her face is palpable enough to be almost painful. She has a white-knuckled grip on the present on her knees

“Ah, age before beauty, is it?” Fai says wryly, slim fingers unpicking the tape that holds the paper closed at one end. Kurogane tears the wrapping off his before the children can protest Fai’s jest and finds himself holding a slender box, made from pale wood with a sliding lid. Something catches in the corner of his eyes again, making them sting in a way he is unused to. “Thanks,” he mutters, turning to nod at Syaoran, then at Sakura, but finds she isn’t in the corner she was inhabiting only seconds ago. The mystery is solved in seconds, however; she’s there when he turns his gaze back to the sofa, fingers knitted in anxiety and brows drawn tight in a frown.

“You like it?” she presses. “You both do?”

He nods and opens his mouth to say “of course, thank you,” but that’s enough for Sakura. She tips forward and hugs him tight.

She’s skinny as anything; probably light enough he could lift her with one hand. She’s close enough for him to smell her gingerbread-scented breath and something flowery she’s used on her hair.

“I’m glad,” she says, muffled into his chest. He’s still blinking at her in stupefaction, and she pulls back to beam at him. Kurogane can’t help but twitch his lips up in return.

“Now you go,” Fai orders and Sakura scurries back to her seat.

“Let’s do it together, Syaoran-kun,” she says, hands poised over the slim rectangle on her lap, like and eagle ready to swoop down on whatever small rodent is unfortunate and unobservant enough to be out in the open.

“On the count of three!” Mokona calls out from her place of honour at the top of the tree. “One, two…”

Kurogane leans back into the cushions and watches the madness break loose.

The cookies disappear rather quickly, as does the wrapping paper on the gifts.

Amidst the sea of crumpled wrapping paper and crumbs, Kurogane picks his way past his sleeping family carefully, wary of stepping on someone’s foot or finger.

Mokona ate more cookies than beggared belief, and once the resultant sugar high ended, crashed literally and spectacularly into the windowsill. “What a way to go!” Fai had laughed, although he had moved her close to the fire and wrapped her gently in a corner of blanket. Her snores grate through the air like the growl of a chainsaw; he’s honestly surprised that it hasn’t woken either of the children up. They too curled up on the floor with their bellies full and heavy, and were lulled to sleep by the warmth of the fire and the residual exhaustion from the excitement of the day.

Syaoran’s presents are stacked neatly to the left of his sleeping form: the books Fai chose, the thick woollen scarf they found a few worlds back (forest-green with cheerful yellow tassels) and the dagger Kurogane commissioned last time they landed in a country with traditional weaponry. Resting carefully atop the books in pride of place is the gift Sakura gave him; a dark blue inkpot embellished with whorls of silver, and a pair of very fine feather quills to use with it. At some point Fai must have stuffed one of the cushions under Syaoran’s head and tossed the blanket Kurogane had formerly been hoarding over his back.

Sakura is curled around her own small heap of presents like a dragon guarding their treasure-hoard. Clasped against her cheek is a pair of mittens (golden in colour and lined with rabbit fur) and a heavy velvet cloak the colour of holly berries ripples down from her shoulders; Kurogane and Fai’s contribution to her gifts.

Kurogane steps past her quietly and comes to his destination at last; the sofa. Fai is stretched out along it, dozing peacefully, and it doesn’t take much effort to shift him a little so Kurogane can fit next to him. Kurogane's breath stirs Fai's hair but Fai hardly shifts in response. Kurogane presses his back agaonst Fai's chest and waits for their breathing to synchronise, until it seems as though they are one living organ. Lying together like that, they fall asleep.

 

 

 

(two)

_Let it never be said that Daidouji Tomoyo, president of Piffle Princess, ever takes Christmas lightly._

They land, as fate would have it, just outside her apartment block.  But of course they have no way of knowing this – the building is just another towering, fanciful structure in a city of many. The architecture is familiar, somewhat, and then Sakura spots a car zooming overhead in the darkness and they deduce that they’ve returned to Piffle. The lights of the city are so bright they block out the stars, something that always leaves Kurogane feeling uncoordinated and even further from home than usual.

Finding Tomoyo is near the top of their priority list – aside from practicalities, like needing a place to stay for tonight and maintenance for Kurogane’s arm, they’ve missed her. Kurogane’s just thinking that it might be more practical to find lodgings for the night and go about trying to contact her in the morning – it’s already dark, although the bright lights and blaring noise that seems just a street away would have him believing it’s still daytime – when she appears.

The doors behind them sweep open soundlessly and Tomoyo peers out. Her face lights up when she sees them, and glancing over her shoulder, she beckons them inside. She’s dressed in a sleek grey outfit with padded shoulders and a neat, straight skirt. She looks utterly professional; her sharp, authoritative image not diminished at all by the way her hair is wisping and curling out of its bun, or her bare feet and the high heels she holds in one hand.  She hasn’t lost any of her unmistakeable _presence_ without being draped in endless folds of luxurious silk, her hair flowing past her hips and the elaborate gold headpiece with little bells that tinkle every time she so much as shifts in her seat. When she leaps forward to greet them properly, delighted recognition in her eyes, she smells like clean cotton and vanilla instead of lotus blossoms and incense. Her poise and elegance are not diminished at all – she looks every bit a princess, a leader.

They cram themselves into a bubble-shaped glass compartment. Tomoyo taps at a small steel panel on the wall and they go whizzing upwards, arriving on the top floor in a matter of seconds. There’s no lurch or sudden, jarring halt to match with the speed of their ascent; their ride is as smooth and silent as a night-time predator. She welcomes them into her apartment with mechanised sliding doors that hiss open

The walls of her apartment are decorated with strings of tiny bright lights that glow in a multitude of different colours, alternating, fading from red to amber to rose to white to lilac to blue. A well-decorated tree holds court to a stack of brightly wrapped boxes in the corner, wound with more glowing lights and topped with a white-robed doll holding a minute harp. It takes Kurogane a moment to realise the tree’s a synthetic; its conical shape is perfect, the boughs full and heavy with needles (a few even discreetly shed onto Tomoyo’s carpet) and as the door opens a waft of sharp pine-scent hits him in the face. Its only flaw is that it’s altogether _too_ perfect – real trees aren’t so faultlessly symmetrical and it shouldn’t smell so fresh having been chopped down and stuck into a pot for a number of weeks, but there’s the technology of Piffle world (and Tomoyo’s company in particular) for you.

Tomoyo’s policies on hot chocolate are much the same as Fai’s; sweeter, hotter, and she seems to have adopted ‘the more, the better’ as her main plan. She has a fancy machine to make it with, too; Fai had to make his by melting squares of chocolate and heating milk in pans over the stove. Tomoyo’s is ready in a matter of seconds, and is topped with whirls of cream, rainbow-coloured sprinkles and mini-marshmallows. Fai takes his mug like it’s a sacred relic. His eyes slip closed in reverence as he takes the first sip. Kurogane scoffs at him, and takes his mug of tea from Tomoyo with a nod of thanks. A plain herbal brew, without even a swirl of milk or pinch of sugar. Without prompting, she seems to know his exact tastes. Not for the first time and not for the last Kurogane wonders how much she shares with the dreaming princess of his world.

No amount of cajoling will persuade Kurogane into one of the ridiculous red hats topped with a silly white puff that Tomoyo pulls out of a sack and hands around (there’s even a miniature one for the manjuu). Fai, of course, loves his. Syaoran lights up and immediately starts talking about Christmas traditions in different worlds – they all have something to add from the last world; the bustling marketplace, ivy garlands and the candles people lit in their windowsills when it got dark.

“Christmas presents!” Tomoyo exclaims suddenly. Fai meets Kurogane’s eyes from across the room and Kurogane nods in return. The tissue-paper package is tucked carefully into his pack. They can give it to her later.

He gets the feeling that she knew they’d be coming. Tomoyo comes back from the kitchen with a tall bag and hands it to Fai. He kisses her cheek in thanks, and draws out a dusty, dark bottle of what looks like very ancient (and knowing Tomoyo) expensive wine.

Sakura, of course, gets a full-length gown, snowy white and embroidered all over in fine gold thread. Tomoyo insists that she try it on immediately. It sits perfectly under her new cloak. The skirt rustles softly when she moves and flares out when she spins around.

“The bottom half of the skirt detaches, see?” and Fai and Sakura coo as the heavy petticoats fall away, leaving Sakura’s skinny legs bare from the knee down. Syaoran squeaks and the tips of his ears turn pink. Tomoyo shows them the cleverly hidden catches to hook the skirt back in place. “So if you need to run around, you can,” she explains, and smiles at them knowingly. “And I have some leggings for Sakura-chan to wear under it, because the weather is so cold at the moment! We couldn’t possibly have you catching a chill, dear Sakura-chan!”

Syaoran’s fiddling with the settings on the latest Piffle Princess camera (released just in time for the holiday season, Tomoyo informs them, and one of their best-selling products already!), a sleek black thing that doesn’t look like it can store up to three million pictures, survive twenty-storey falls and work underwater (only a few of its many features!). Sakura’s spinning around at Mokona’s behest, both of them admiring the way Tomoyo’s multi-coloured lights play off the gold embellishments worked into the skirt and bodice. Syaoran has been delegated the job of photographer in Tomoyo’s absence, but Kurogane can see, even as he’s led out of the door, that Syaoran is far too entranced by the smile on Sakura’s face to concentrate on his duty.

Kurogane’s doesn’t want anything in the way of Christmas presents, but refusing to have his arm seen to by the very people who made it would be irredeemably stupid. Tomoyo’s outwitted him again, and so gracefully he can’t help but admire her for it. The only thing he regrets is leaving Fai behind in the main area of Tomoyo’s apartment.

The room they enter is bare and shiny, lacking all the homeliness of Tomoyo’s rooms. A tall bespectacled man greets him with a manic grin and the slender woman besides him bows respectfully in a more conventional greeting. They’re distantly familiar in a way Kurogane knows he’ll never place – they’ve been to so many worlds and met so many people (so many versions of the _same_ people) that he’s long reconciled himself with never remembering them all.

He takes his shirt of and sits down in the chair in the middle of the room. The two scientists get straight down to business. Most of their talk goes right over Kurogane’s head, but Tomoyo nods in understanding and asks Kurogane’s permission each time before they come at him with their screwdrivers and other, more complicated gadgets he has no name for.

By the time they’re finished, the ache in his shoulder that he has become so accustomed to he hardly notices it anymore has diminished, which is almost more unnerving than the way his metal arm seems to react to his merest thought now. He’s not sure he likes the idea of the skin sleeve, made from one hundred per cent human skin – donated, of course (how does one _donate skin_?) – but he can’t deny it would be useful in worlds where there isn’t magic. It can get tiresome wearing long sleeves and gloves all the time. The whole process takes maybe an hour and a half, and he finds that he hardly missed Fai for any of it.

Fai doesn’t even try to hide the relief that breaks over his face when they re-enter the apartment. Kurogane attempts to go straight over to him but is intercepted by Mokona, who for some incomprehensible reason has been allowed Tomoyo’s fancy new camera. Instinctively, Kurogane ducks and throws his arm over his face, but all Mokona wanted to do was show him the pictures she took of Syaoran and Sakura. Tomoyo’s lips twist like she’s trying not to laugh and she turns her head to say something to Fai, who nods in emphatic agreement, one hand sketching out an emphatic accompaniment. Kurogane tries to rid himself of the notion that they're making fun of him, and contents himself with looking at Fai, whose cheeks are flushed and eyes bright. His pale gold hair has come loose from its tie, sliding in a silky tumble over one of his slender shoulders. The way he bites his lip to stifle a laugh is… well, Kurogane has to look away and clear his throat several times. He eventually decides to move away from the centre of the room, where all the heat and conversation and excitement is gathered, and goes to the window for some cooler air.

After some time, Tomoyo joins him. His Tomoyo, the one who walked up to him all those years ago and dispelled the darkness around him with a simple kind touch would never dream of touching him like this – she has far too much decorum – but this one has no qualms about flinging her arms around his neck and squeezing the death out of him. He pats her clumsily on the shoulder and waits somewhat awkwardly for her to let him go.

“Tomoyo-chan,” giggles Sakura, who has gone back to spinning around and perhaps has had a little too much mulled wine. “Tomoyo-chan, he’s turning bright red!”

Clearly the wine has affected her vision as well. Tomoyo lets him go and pats him on the chest, understanding in her own exceptional way.

“You look after them so well,” she whispers, and he ignores whatever is sparkling in the corner of her eyes, for in their violet depths he can see her dreams, and knows that she knows everything. “How long do you think you’ll have to – how long will this journey last?”

Until the children have done what they need to do, he thinks and opens his mouth to say it, but:

“No, I don’t think that’s for me to ask. Don’t answer that, please. It was silly of me.” Tomoyo sounds both firm and wistful. It isn’t her nature to dwell. When she turns to face the others, she is smiling again, her eyes glowing with festive cheer. There’s a blink of bright light, and then another and another, about a dozen in swift succession, leaving Kurogane’s retinas struggling to compensate. Tomoyo, used to it, threads her arm through his and smiles her gleaming smile in the direction of the flashes.

“Sorry!” Fai calls, waving Tomoyo’s shiny camera over his head and grinning brightly. “The two of you just looked so sweet standing there, with the lights and the window behind you. I couldn’t resist!”

Kurogane growls and makes a half-hearted swipe for the camera – even if Fai weren’t so good at darting out of his way (even though the sheer happiness in Fai’s eyes is more than enough for him to let anything go), the chances that he could figure out enough of how the camera works to make the picture go away are slim. It’s more likely that Kurogane would end up getting more and more irritated, and eventually throw the stupid thing into the wall or out of the window. And he bets Tomoyo’s reproachful eyes are no less large and glistening and goddamn _effective_ in this world. Tomoyo laughs, pushing past him and shaking her head slightly at something only she knows. Kurogae does not follow her to join the children and neither does Fai. They stand there together in a perfect clear moment of silence, not at all disturbed by the antics of the younger ones in the centre of the room.

Fai runs his fingers lightly up Kurogane’s mechanical arm. “Everything in order?”

“Runs smoother than ever,” Kurogane grunts, lifting the mage’s hand from his arm but at the last moment keeping hold of it, almost as if he had changed his mind. “Tomoyo’s tech gave me some ointment for my shoulder. They adjusted and replaced some parts but most of their talk was practically in a different language. They showed me this thing called a _skin sleeve_ …”

They talk about his arm for a while, but when the conversation trails off they do not attempt to revive it. The silence that yawns between them is comfortable, and if they lean into each other a little, sharing warmth as they watch the light twinkle and glitter around the three children – almost as if it is drawn to them – then it’s no one’s business but theirs.

“Now, does anyone want more hot chocolate?” Tomoyo says to the room at large, and laughs brightly at the answering chorus of replies.

 

 

 

(three)

They arrive in the next world on a cool bright morning, the sky frosty blue and the sun gilding the cobblestone street that is so suddenly solid beneath their feet in warm yellow-gold. Curls of smoke weave out of the chimneys of the houses that line each side of the road and dissipate into the still morning air, melting against the blue, stretching thin and wafting away until there is nothing left.

It is early enough for few to be about; the sun has barely cleared the horizon and the sounds of the town stirring to life are still muted and discreet. Nobody but a few stray chickens, who cluck indignantly and flap a few inches off the ground in protest at the disturbance, see them drop out of the sky and onto the narrow road.

The people speak in some light trilling language that is at odds with their heavy features and coarse dark hair, and makes no sense to Kurogane whatsoever. But Syaoran and Fai can pick up bits and pieces, and eventually they figure out that the townspeople are giving them directions to the tavern, where most travellers that come through the town stay. Syaoran gathers that it is in the centre of town, and they set off at a slow trudge.

The heavy oak doors of the tavern are flung wide open, but only a few lights are lit in the back and when they poke their heads in they see the chairs stacked on the tables and no one in sight. It is Sakura who decides to see if there is anyone in the back and slips in before anyone can stop her. Having no choice, they follow her and find her next to a man talking earnestly to the tavern-owner’s daughter. He is wrapped thickly in furs despite being indoors, and wears his silvered hair long and tied at the nape of his neck, like Fai. He persuades the lass into fetching them some hot wine and roasted chestnuts and turns his eyes to them with great curiosity.

To the relief of them all, he speaks the same language as them, though with a very faint accent. Fai introduces them as travellers, adding whatever embellishments that amuse him. Syaoran’s thirst for knowledge has led him to journey around the world, one last great journey before he settles down and marries Sakura, his fiancée. Kurogane is their hired muscle, to protect whatever vagabonds and footpads they may meet on the road, and Fai is Sakura’s devoted cousin, accompanying them to make sure nothing improper happens before the big night.

The woman comes back with a large pot of steaming coffee and bowls of hot porridge for each of them, having received a lecture from her mother on leaving guests hungry. Apparently the man is a sort of local celebrity, being a foreigner from the warm southern parts of the land, and a rich scholar to boot. Syaoran wins him over with his academic curiosity in a matter of minutes, and Sakura charms him with her questions about the town and its people.

Slate-grey clouds cluster over the horizon, growing in number with each passing hour, but they are not an ominous presence, and from the inside of the warm tavern are easily set aside.

The coffee is strong and hot, and after a few swallows Kurogane feels much more inclined to relax. Fai pours cream and honey on his porridge and manages to tip a swirl of honey into Kurogane’s bowl before Kurogane can stop him. It doesn’t taste all that bad, but Kurogane has other things on his mind – like finding a place to stay, for the first on his list. Maybe the tavern here will let them exchange physical labour for bed and board. Fai thinks that he saw a ‘hiring’ sign in the window of a bakery they passed and wants to try his luck.

A soft smile tilts the scholar’s mouth as he looks at the two children. “Why not stay with me?” he offers. “I have plenty of room and I think we will have much to talk about.”

This delights Sakura and Syaoran – the promise of the scholar’s library is a major factor to the shine in Syaoran’s eyes. Fai and Kurogane are more averse to accepting so quickly, and from a complete stranger. But his offer seems genuine and well-meant, and despite the ponytail he doesn’t really look much like Kyle Rondart. “More money than sense,” Kurogane scoffs under his breath. Fai’s only response is an elbow to his ribs and to accept the scholar’s offer with his usual charming smile.

It’s clouded over properly by mid-morning, and by the time they’ve settled in with the scholar, flecks of soft cold white are falling from the sky and sticking to the just-swept streets. The scholar encourages them to go job-seeking before the snow becomes too deep.

Fai and Syaoran come back from their scouting trip, having failed to any temporary work, but with much better news: the snow that has fallen is dry and powdery, apparently perfect for sledding. The scholar, though he firmly assures them that he has no intention of participating in such a vigorous activity, manages to find two old but perfectly serviceable sleds and point them in the direction of the hill just outside of town that the townsfolk favour for sledding.

The sky is darkening, and by the time they’ve dragged everything and everyone up to the top of the hill, the clouds have parted enough for the first stars to peer through, glittering and distant. The snow has stopped falling and everything all around is silent. The lights of the town glow mistily through the fading light, and look far more distant than the half-mile Kurogane knows them to be.

The view – well, what they can see of it, limned by starlight and the slender sickle moon – is spectacular. The landscape is blurred by shadow, so much hidden by dusky twilight that only the most noticeable features stand out; the line of trees stalking the stony ridge to their right, the town bright and defiant against the night, a flat still lake shining pale and distant in the north. Kurogane suspects that the scene would not be nearly so interesting in full daylight.

Fai presses himself against Kurogane’s back in a manner Kurogane would prefer they keep to the bedroom, though the effect it usually has is rather lost as they are both wearing about seven layers of clothing to combat the bitter chill. He though it was cold when chopping firewood outside the cottage two worlds back, but the air is so freezing here that each time he breathes in his teeth _ache_.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s not like we’ve never seen snow or stars before, dumbass.” Kurogane feels Fai’s answering laugh reverberate through his chest.

Syaoran and Sakura load themselves onto the sledge, Mokona tucked safely into someone’s hood. Crouching on his haunches, hands holding on to the slats at the very back, Kurogane sends them off with a great shove. They move slowly at first but soon go so fast they disappear from sight, and the only thing he has to pinpoint them with is the sound of their whoops and laughter. Twenty minutes later, they appear again, it having taken that long to drag the sledge back up the hill. Fai goes with Sakura this time and Syaoran waits at the top of the hill with Kurogane. He seems to see something extraordinary in the stars as well, but they don’t speak until the others reappear, laughing and breathless.

“Come on, Kuro-sama, you have to try it. With me?”

So Kurogane clambers awkwardly onto the back of the sledge and pulls Fai back against his chest. The children shove them off together and after a couple of seconds where they slide along the snow and Kurogane thinks that it’s – nice, but nothing much to speak of, they suddenly gain speed and are whizzing down the slope at such a pace he feels as if the wind is stripping the skin from his face, leaving only gleaming bone and raw muscle.

They go so fast there is no breath in Kurogane’s lungs to laugh with, but laughing he feels like doing, and when Fai yanks at the old frayed rope to bring them to a stop too hard and sends them tumbling into a snow drift, he’s still smiling wide enough to split his face in two.

There isn’t even a breath of wind to disturb the perfect smooth sheets of snow that cover the land and blur it into a landscape of sweeping white lines. The snow muffles all sound for miles around; it feels like the earth’s most complete silence and both are reluctant to shatter it. Overhead, the stars shine on.

 _“Magical_ ,” Fai says, and Kurogane knows he is not thinking of lines of runes filling the air and ancient scrolls worn thin at the edges and collapsing worlds – but of pale pure light against the all-encompassing white, wind whipping through their hair and delight so great there are no words to express it with.

They have to go back eventually of course, and they do so reluctantly, brushing snow from their hair and clothing and going back to the sledge, turning it over correctly so it can run up the slope behind them. After that, the evening is a sequence of laughter and brief whizzing thrills

“Last go?” Fai suggests, breathing hard. Kurogane nods. The moon is high in the sky, the night is old, but he doesn’t want to leave just yet.

“All together, then!”

They all pile on except Kurogane, who pushes them off first then jumps clumsily on at the last minute. There’s no slow build of speed; first going slow enough to marvel at the stars above them then suddenly plunging down, faster and faster and faster, then coming to a halt dizzy and breathless at the bottom. No, they are flying down the hill at what seems the speed of light, skidding and swerving from side to side, out of control and clinging tight to whoever is in front of them for dear life.

“Hold tight!” someone shouts. Someone else is screaming, and there’s laughter as well, and suddenly they're at the bottom of the hill but still going faster than ever. Sakura, at the front, yanks hard on the rope and sticks her feet down in the snow. The sled swerves and jolts and finally overturns, kicking up a wave of white and sending its occupants spinning over the snow. Momentum carries it skidding on for a few more metres before it ploughs deep into a snowdrift, but there is no one to see it, all tumbled face-down into the snow.

“Wow,” Syaoran says breathlessly somewhere nearby. Kurogane pulls himself to his feet and assese the damage. Aside from a great deal of snow in places where Kurogane never wants it, _ever_ , and a slight headache, he’s fine. Syaoran is stumbling dizzily to his feet a few paces away but there’s no sign of the other three.

“Careful,” Kurogane says as Syaoran performs some kind of wriggling dance to try and get as much snow out of his clothing as possible. “Can you see the others?”

“I’m fine,” Syaoran says, and trips forward. Kurogane catches the boy by the end of his scarf and hauls him back, harder than he means to so Syaoran comes crashing backwards into his chest. He looks up at Kurogane with wide eyes and then grins, twists, and throws his arm around Kurogane’s middle.

“That was amazing!” he yells. “I think I have an entire snowdrift down the back of my neck!” Syaoran’s heart is beating like a hunted rabbit’s, strong enough that Kurogane can feel it pounding through their many layers of clothing.

“Will I get hypothermia, do you think?” Syaoran asks slightly wildly, still grinning like a loon.

“You’re fine,” he says gruffly and is spared from dealing with the rest of the boy’s adrenaline high by the arrival of Sakura and Fai, who were tossed in the other direction by the sled and have spent the past few minutes digging Mokona out of a snow bank that was deeper than expected, as he will later find out.

“ _There_ you are!”

“Are you all right?”

“The sled went so much faster and further with all five of us on,” Fai is explaining. He’s lost his hat and mittens somewhere along the way but doesn’t seem to be noticing the cold and fusses over Syaoran and Kurogane, though Kurogane has already concluded that there’s no harm done – they're just both very cold and wet and caked in snow.

The general consensus is reached that it’s best to go back to the scholar’s house; it will soon be getting too dark to see one’s hand in front of one’s face, let alone steer a sledge. There’s no great rush to get back to the town, but when they see the lantern the scholar has lit for them hanging in front of his blessedly familiar door, leaving the sled forgotten outside as they all cram into the hall, wrestling off their heavy clothes. Syaoran, Sakura and Mokona are whisked off for a hot bath and some tea, Fai following behind like a mother hen herding her chicks. Kurogane means to go with them, though he doesn’t know how much help he would be – he’d probably lurk awkwardly in the corner until the time came for him to dispense some fatherly advice – but he encounters some difficulty with his boots which slows him down; the snarled mess of his bootlaces has frozen together, and he has to wait for them to thaw and then spend twenty minutes unpicking the sodden mess. The scholar’s house is a large stone building, empty save for the scholar himself, a cook, and his five recently acquired guests. Kurogane wanders from room to room, feeling slightly lost and aimless. He finds the room Fai singled out for them that morning and peels off his heavy wet clothing, leaving them in a heap outside the door. After he’s dressed again he hobbles to the fireplace to plunk a couple more logs onto the hearth and poke the glowing coals to life. He stays by the fire until his skin is clammy with heat, and even then is only dragged away when fai comes back and takes him to bed.

When Kurogane finally falls asleep, he dreams of the sun.

 

 

 

(four)

The room is small and quiet; an intimate setting accentuated by the dim smoky light and plain paper screens separating them from the rest of the world. Souma is hovering just outside the door and a patrol of her ninja is stationed at regular intervals along the walls, changing positions every quarter hour. Kurogane can feel the candle-flames of their auras at the very edge of his awareness – they’ve pulled back a little to give their princess privacy but are not slacking in their duties.

She places one tiny cool hand against his cheek and holds his eyes with her serene violet gaze, as tranquil as it ever is and immensely comforting in its familiarity. And perhaps he was wrong about Princess Tomoyo having too much propriety to ever embrace him, for she pulls him gently forward and rests her chin against his shoulder for a few endless moments. She smells like delicately perfumed silk and winter violets and incense – surprisingly, not the kind that is most often favoured by the priestesses (a heady, heavy musk that squeezes down his throat, making it hard to breathe and clouding his thoughts). It doesn’t even make him want to sneeze, which is a first. Even visiting his mother in the shrine as a child had left him with an itching nose and watering eyes.

Tomoyo draws back and smiles at him. “My dear Kurogane,” she says, sounding impossibly proud, impossibly fond. “You have come home. Though not, I think, for very long, at least the circumstances are better this time around, hm?”

The calm and poise she radiates is like soothing balm to his overworked brain. Kurogane hadn’t realised how much he missed her until she is sitting in front of him, until something drawn tight inside him – something close to breaking – is loosened and let go by her sweet smile and clear gaze. He’s lost the fanatic desire to return home that fuelled the first weeks of their journey, but Nihon is still where he sees himself ending up when this is all over. With Fai, hopefully. Maybe even returning to Suwa and restoring the estate to its former glory – though he doesn’t quite have the courage for it this time around.

Tomoyo’s eyes soften. She passes her hand over his forehead, where she marked him with her seal so long ago. “Rest now,” she says. “We will expect you all to be on fine form at the welcome feast tonight.”

Kurogane bows his head and rises from the floor. Souma still snorts when he passes her, and calls him an ungrateful brat when Tomoyo is far enough away to pretend she can’t hear them bicker. They both see her hide her smile behind her wide sleeve, anyways. And things are almost as they always have been.

Their trip to Nihon lasts exactly two weeks, and it does Kurogane more good than he ever would have imagined. And though he has long stopped measuring home as a place instead of the people he’s with, the castle holds to many memories to be of little significance to him, and is far less painful to return to than the crumbling ruin where Suwa once stood.

It isn’t exactly peaceful – when he’s not living in fear of Tomoyo and Fai, who have become cursedly close and are surely conspiring to ruin him, he’s certain that they’ll lose Syaoran in the bowels of the ancient library, which extend deep into the earth (nobody knows _how_ deep; it varies from account to account). Human life and the palace above hold no competition to the appeal of scroll after scroll. He absorbs arcane, obscure knowledge like a sponge. Tomoyo turns out to be the only one who can persuade him out of the dusty archives, and that’s by organising a series of romantic picnics with Sakura for him in the palace gardens, still beautiful even in the dead of winter. Kendappa visits and glares at him for a lengthy moment, in a manner that brings back too many terrible memories of stumbling upon the empress and her ninja captain when they were being intimate and getting various objects thrown at him for interrupting. Even now, a good ten years later, he still cringes in sympathy for his teenaged self and feels the phantom burn in his calves from when Souma had made him run extra laps, as if it had all happened yesterday.

Thankfully only a few more childhood flashbacks make appearances over the course of their visit. Most of them are commonplace nostalgia but some are strong; the taste of the nuts the servants leave out in little bowls in their rooms in case the guests get hungry pull him back to when he used to steal snacks from the kitchen. The memory is one of his strongest from Shirasagi castle; the clean scent of the fresh fruit that the kitchen aides were cutting into neat cubes, the line of women pummelling dough at rough wooden benches, the slick sound of steel on steel as knives were sharpened in preparation for slicing the freshly-caught fish from the forest lakes. He had darted in, silent and fast enough to be a lanky blur to the eyes of those who looked up at the right second to see him, and grabbed a handful of nuts from a bowl in front of a bored young girl who was shelling them with automatic movements and a faraway look in her eyes. The cook, a woman not to be underestimated in any circumstances, moved at speed at odds with her side and grabbed him before he could make away with his prize. But she only cuffed him once and yelled at him to get out of the kitchen, letting him keep the nuts if not quite his pride.

There are other memories of simple things; fishing and climbing trees and sneaking into the stables to spend time with his favourite mount. Fai finds each and every one of these absolutely fascinating. Kurogane stumbles over the recollection one day that Fai didn’t really have much of a childhood to speak of, and finds himself telling Fai everything he can remember.

Fai pesters him for a tour of the castle, wanting to know his favourite spots when he was a boy – when he trained, where he ate, where he slept – his secret niches and hidey-holes (Kurogane hasn’t been able to fit into _hidey-holes_ since he was thirteen). There’s hunting and picnics in the forest (once, memorably, both at the same time), swimming in the lakes, learning to cook from the same woman who let Kurogane get away with stealing some nuts and sparring in front of a wide-eyed audience of Souma’s newest recruits. Fai drags Syaoran out of the library and they take him to the royal armoury and help him find a sword for if he ever needs a spare. It’s _busy_ ; they fall into bed so exhausted every evening that they rarely have the energy to do anything but curl together, and only end up traumatising one or two maids (and Syaoran, but he doesn’t really count; he’s seen them together enough times that it’s stopped being uncomfortable for the two of them and is just a mild inconvenience, and Syaoran’s fiery blushes have long since faded to wearied resignation. He finds some half-hearted comfort in the fact that it’s him seeing them be indecent, not the princess.).

Even so.

It’s healing, in a way, to have returned. To leave with blessings at his back, and know that someday he will return again.

 

 

 

(five)

There’s another Christmas in another world, and by this time Kurogane is finding it a little annoying. There was never this much snow in Nihon at winter, and winter never lasted this goddamned _long_. Sakura thinks it’s wonderful, and one quick call to Watanuki (to check that they hadn’t actually accidentally become trapped in an endless sequence of jolliness, snow and gift-giving) has the shopkeeper murmuring about hitsuzen into the miasma of smoke that coils out of his pipe and fills the room with snaking silver threads. Nothing to be done, then, Fai concludes philosophically, and Kurogane thinks very hard about anything other than firewood.

The rooms they’ve rented are above a normally-busy pub that’s mostly closed for the holiday. In the early evenings chatter and songs drift up from the main room through the cracks in the floorboards but it always quiets before it gets too late, leaving only the owners and the live-in cook and waitress. They have two rooms, each with beds piled high with blankets and roaring fires that have to be constantly fed to combat the freezing temperatures.

It takes one throwaway thought – that the wizard should be at home in a climate like this – and that’s all it takes for Kurogane to tell his stupid brain to shut up _very firmly_ , and decide that he’s going to enjoy Christmas this time. Only it’s called Yule in this world, and it’s a lot more intimate. People stay in their houses and exchange presents with their loved ones. There’s normally a feast, some shit about quietly reflecting on the past year and a bunch of other traditions, like burning a log that has some special significance attached to it and kissing under a kind of white-berried parasitical plant. Their landlady gave them a few sprigs and during a brief period where all her wits departed her, Mokona ate six of the white berries and proceeded to be violently sick (1). Kurogane threw the poison on the fire and went downstairs to yell at the landlady. Luckily for poor Mrs Higgins, who had only offered the plant out of a sense of festive spirit, Fai was in the kitchen with her learning how to bake her cinnamon-and-apple pastries and managed to put a stop to any possible homicide (and prevent them from being booted out) by sitting Kurogane down at the table and explaining to him the customs of this world. More baffled by people willingly hanging up poisonous plants in their homes (in reach of children, no less) and attaching to it some meaning of festivity and romance at this stage, Kurogane let Fai lead him back to their rooms without any more fuss. He couldn’t quite let it go, however, and brought up the strangeness of their customs when they were huddling under the sheets and clutching each other for warmth that night.

“Your people eat _raw fish_ , Kuro-sama.” This is a completely incomprehensible act to Fai, and in his mind the last thing there is to be said on the subject. “And your feet are _cold_. I think you’d better come over here and warm me up.”

“You’ve just been telling me how undesirable my feet are,” Kurogane points out, “and talking about sushi. Not your _best_ dirty talk, by all means. In fact, I’d probably give it a two –”

Fai hits him with a pillow. “Like you can talk. Now _come here_.”

Kurogane goes willingly.

In many ways, this world is no different from the previous few. There’s hot chocolate (by the goddamn buckets), another tree (smaller but no less extravagantly decorated) and, of course, another round of gifts.

They give each other small things this time – Sakura receives bangles and notebooks and a small stuffed golden lion (which Tomoyo handed to them with a wink just before they left Piffle); Syaoran gets a travel-sized kit for the maintenance of his weapons and pens and bottles of ink. They both get nearly their own weight in sweets and chocolate, courtesy of Fai. The boxes the goods are packed in are supposedly ‘Mokona-proof’, but Mokona has found a better supplier in the form of Mrs Higgins and has abandoned them in favour of raiding her pantry.

Kurogane has a pair of ribbons stashed at the bottom of his pack: one shimmery blue satin, a colour he thinks will look good against the wizard’s pale hair and bring out the impossible brightness of those bluer-than-blue eyes; and the second deep scarlet to replace the one that’s fading in Fai’s hair and unravelling at the ends. Fai doesn’t like to be parted from it; even when Kurogane pulls his hair loose and runs his fingers through the golden mane; even when Fai takes it out for bed it is never far from his side. Kurogane knows it holds some symbolism to Fai, of the time they spent in Nihon when Kurogane was close to death and they finally, _finally_ came together. But Kurogane doesn’t press, and just hopes Fai will like his present. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the course of their journey, it’s that focusing on the important things – the small things, like sleepy smiles and half-covered yawns in the morning, the glimmer of a hair ribbon, the taste of hot cocoa and gingerbread cookies – should never be overlooked.

Fai leans into him, and Kurogane’s arm drifts around his waist and secures him there, almost like an afterthought.

They watch Mokona roll around and squeal in the shiny shredded paper, and the two children hold a blushing, whispered conversation by the window. Looking past them, Kurogane can see large flakes of snow drift ponderously down from the sky, adding to the heavy banks already pushed up against the walls of the house and then sweeping out onwards into more endless white.

Fai is talking about something to do with magic (Kurogane probably gave him the wrong idea by picking up his book that one time) but Kurogane’s mind is occupied with how _happy_ he looks, all messy hair tied into a sloppy knot at the nape of his neck, mouth curled into a smile that is _genuine_ and sends a flurry of heat down Kurogane’s spine. Fai’s voice is merely a pleasant background to the busy hum of his thoughts.

“ – and Watanuki-san said the spell wouldn’t require all that much energy, but is finicky and difficult to get right, which is what _I_ thought but the possibility is worth the practice, don’t you think, Kuro-ron?”

“Hn,” Kurogane says, eyes following the bob of Fai’s throat as he swallows, and Kurogane realises he hasn’t been listening to a single word.

“Kuro-sama!” Fai reproves, but he’s laughing, head tipped back and glimmering gold hair fraying out of its red ribbon. He swats at Kurogane’s arm, then his hand strays back and winds around Kurogane’s bicep, squeezing in a way that is half playful, half heated blue eyes. Desire flashes through Kurogane immediately, smiting down to his core – he doesn’t think there’ll ever be a day where those eyes don’t melt him down and build him up again in a pillar of want. But the kids are _just over there_ and they’ve actually built up a pretty good track record over the past few weeks of not sneaking off to their own room in the middle of the day, and so they curl together and let the want melt into affection.

“Ah, this is nice, Kuro-sama.”

Kurogane grunts a vague reply. But it is nice there, nestled together on the sofa, the ruddy light from the fire spilling out of the grate and over their feet. Cosy, sort of, although that’s a word Kurogane doesn’t really use.

“Idiot,” he grouses.

“Grumpy puppy,” Fai returns, a sparkle to his eyes.

 

 

 

(epilogue)

They’ve stretched out their stay in this world by a number of weeks; an unusual but not unwelcome respite. They missed the traditional gift-giving season in this country (Kurogane thanks whatever powers that be for that, if only for the sake of their budget), but it is still cold and white outside, and Fai still makes obscene amounts of hot chocolate and dangles strands of twinkling lights in the windows and spends hours snipping pieces of paper into snowflake-shapes. The aura of festivity still hangs thick in the air. It is an afternoon like any other, spent inside in chairs in front of the fire, when Syaoran decides he wants to contact Watanuki. In all of these worlds, family has been the common thread binding all of the ceremonies and traditions together. Whatever Syaoran and Watanuki are to each other (Kurogane doesn’t know whether ‘family’ is too strong or inadequate), they're closer than shopkeeper and customer, certainly.

“What’s the price for this communication?” Fai asks. It is as if someone simply cut a square out of the fabric of reality (switch reality for time and space, and he’s probably right) above their kitchen table, allowing them to peer through into

“The price has already been paid,” Watanuki says. His dark kimono is patterned with pale blue butterflies and gapes wide open over his white chest. The silver smoke wafting around him, the pipe he taps against his lips, his long pale legs stretching out across the rich dark fabric of the divan he lounges against… Nobody brings up Yuuko, but it’s obvious he’s trying to recreate her somehow. The effect falls somewhat flat and somewhat sad, but there’s no mistaking the aura of power that bends his shoulders. He is certainly not Yuuko, but without a doubt he is the Shopkeeper.

“We’ll still send you something, Watanuki-kun!” Sakura chirps cheerfully, and his enigmatic half-smile curls into something a little more real at the earnestness in her eyes.

“Sake would be lovely~” the other Mokona warbles, swaying for dramatic effect. Watanuki swats irritably at his companion as the Mokona hops just out of reach. His eyes – one blue and one not quite blue – clear a little and for a minute Kurogane can see the kid in him, something steadfast and true. There’s dry fondness in the set of his mouth as he wrangles with the black Mokona, the chanting of the soulless girls in the background subsiding as he pins them with a glare that is rather less than intimidating. “ _Quiet_ now! I said quiet!”

“Sake, sake!” their Mokona joins in. “Kuro-puu, can we have sake for dinner?

“ _With_ dinner, not _for_ dinner,” Kurogane corrects.

“If you must,” the white Mokona says a little sulkily, and the black Mokona cackles. Manfully, Kurogane ignores the twin horrors.

“No sake, no sake,” Watanuki is saying, and finally the two Mokona are silent. “Be _quiet_ , the lot of you. How many times do I have to – oh, never _mind_. Now, the price…”

“How about this?” Fai asks, pulling an item out of their bags – a clay vase, painted black and decorated with obscure white symbols. Kurogane hadn’t seen much value in it when they had picked it up at a flea market several worlds previous, but he had the sense not to question what had caught a magic-user’s eye, especially when he tucked it away out of sight after handing over payment and said quietly that it might come in handy someday. Watanuki eyes it appraisingly and then nods, indicating for the white Mokona to swallow it. She does so with great gusto. The vase pops out of the black Mokona’s mouth on Watanuki’s end, and after that the atmosphere becomes a lot more relaxed.

“Kurogane,” Mokona sings softly, reaching out with her tiny stubby arms, stroking up his bicep and onto his shoulder. There is grim, gleeful purpose in her eyes, an odd teetering mix of the two.

“No,” he says flatly and she falls back, arms up in supplication and eyes wide. Plan B, then.

“But one of Mokona’s one hundred and eight secret techniques is super snuggly hugs! The best hug you’ll ever receive! And Kuro-bunbun has been so huggy lately~ Doesn’t he want to cuddle with Mokona too?”

“NO.”

“Kuro-puu is so mean!” Mokona squawks, bouncing away to weep fake sparkly tears on Fai’s ever-sympathetic shoulder. Kurogane remains unimpressed, and angles himself away from the two.

They close the communication with Watanuki shortly after, calling goodbyes and (on Kurogane’s part at least) tuning out more requests for alcohol. Fai’s looking a little tired, but he promises Sakura he has enough energy and in a series of quick, elegant gestures recreates the spell, filling the air with curling symbols that snake around him, forming intricate patterns that then dissolve in a burst of bright dust. This time, the window that opens is to Clow country, so she can talk with her brother and his high priest. They draw back to give her some privacy. Syaoran sits by the window flipping through one of the books they got him, making neat notes on a pad of paper that rests precariously atop his knee.

Sakura’s smiling wide enough to make the dimples in her cheeks permanent. She’s positively radiant with happiness, her smile not flickering away even for the briefest of moments when she scolds her brother over something or another. They talk for an hour or so, but Kurogane cuts off the communication unrepentantly when he notices Fai going grey. He sits Fai down at the table and won’t let him help with dinner (which is only heating up soup, anyways). Mokona minces along the table towards Kurogane, when Syaoran and Sakura are laying out spoons and bowls and Fai is watching the whole thing with a vague air of amusement, but Kurogane bats her away irritably.

Somehow, though, later – much later, long after the four of them had retired, after the stars had pricked into life and glimmered against the dark canvas of the night sky and when it was quiet, the kind of quiet that muffled all noise except the soft huffing breaths of the sleeping occupants. Fai and Kurogane lay next to each other, legs twined loosely. Fai’s hair was loose and tangled; Kurogane’s sweaty and ruffled in such a manner that suggested someone had been running their hands through it with great passion only a short while before. A sheet had been thrown haphazardly over their legs, they lay close together, breathing the same warm quiet night air, and curled in the crook of the ninja’s arm – though none of the involved parties would recall how it got there – was a peacefully slumbering manjuu.

 

 

 

(extra – gift-shopping)

Sakura’s presents are folded, wrapped and stashed carefully in Fai’s bag. The ground is hard with frost beneath their feet and the tramp of their tough boots against the solid stone is like an anthem to Kurogane’s ears. They’ve left the bright colours and noise of the market behind them, switching light and bustle for dim side-streets and shops with grimy windows and creaking doors.

The bookstore is a lucky find, tucked just out of sight from the one of the main streets in a narrow cobblestoned alley. Old-fashioned, with a diamond-paned front window, papered with advertisements for tobacco and a large brass bell that clangs cheerfully as they enter. The inside is blessedly warm and brightly-lit, however, and the bored teen manning the counter barely flicks his gaze up from his magazine at their entrance.

Syaoran likes books, certainly, but he has plenty, and this world places special stock on gifts given at this time of year. And it isn’t just this world – Syaoran is familiar with the ceremony from his travels prior to their journey together, so of course Fai is determined to find something special for him. Luckily this world is familiar with magic, so there’s a good section for them to browse through

Fai prods him repeatedly in the side until he stomps off in the direction of the high street, to a particular store he had seen earlier and marked down mentally as a possibility. He comes back with a coal-black silk scarf that reminds him of a moonless night, flecked subtly with silver on one side. Fai makes an approving noise as he parts the tissue-paper and runs one slender finger across the cool, smooth material.

Fai’s tapping his bottom lip musingly, a certain gleam to his eye that has Kurogane’s head aching even before he consciously recognises what it means. Maybe it’s a good sign, though; surely if Fai has time to tease him their business is nearly over and they can go home.

“ _Ne_ , Kuro-rin, I was looking for something for you, but I couldn’t find _Tales of Mr Grumpy Puppy_ , or _101 Inventive Ways To Kill Someone And Then Dispose Of The Body Neatly_ –”

“Idiot,” Kurogane grunts, knocking him on the head and leaning past him to flip through one of the titles he’s picked out for Syaoran (something about the creation of beings using magic; a good choice). “That’s what I have _you_ for. I don’t need any dumb book.”

“ _Kuro_ -sama!”

The young man wrapping up their purchases eyes them strangely, but Kurogane’s too busy juggling the delicate scarf and the armful of idiot mage he’s somehow procured in the last five seconds, and all whilst avoiding crushing the pages of Syaoran’s book. It would serve Fai right to let him fall (all in the good name of saving the gifts), but Kurogane doesn’t quite have it in him. Better to wait until they're outside again, and then he can drop Fai in the snow. (And watch the way his cheeks pink with the cold and how he has to shake out his hair to dislodge the flakes caught in the golden strands…)

Kurogane knows the emotion swimming in his eyes isn’t entirely put on and lets Fai hold onto his arm on the way back, under the guise of supporting the weight of the truly ridiculous amount of presents they’ve bought.

He didn’t get Fai anything, and he knows Fai hasn’t got anything for him either. What would they get each other? They’re already bound irrevocably, body and soul. Physical reminders lie in the smooth mechanism of Kurogane’s right arm, the eyepatch Mokona still keeps for them though it is no longer needed. And though the memories may fade (although Kurogane can’t imagine that happening for a good while yet, although the nightmares are more than welcome to walk out the door and never return), they will never be forgotten.

But for now they’re headed home. Well, the tiny cottage they’ve labelled home, for now, but the important thing is that Syaoran and Sakura and Mokona will be there. Family makes a home, not four walls and a roof, but the vessel is allowed to provide some comfort. Right now, Kurogane is thinking longingly of the bed he and Fai have yet to acquaint themselves with and of dinner, which Syaoran and Sakura offered to prepare to give Fai the night off. It’s sure to be eventful, at the very least.

“You’re a silly, silly ninja,” Fai murmurs after a long lull in conversation. They’ve left the main roads of the town and are almost back to their house. It’s very nearly silent, the sky stretching bright blue overhead, and Kurogane barely spares a moment’s thought as to what prompted Fai to say that before he decides that it doesn’t matter. Kurogane shifts most of his goods to the crook of one arm, and winds the other around Fai’s waist. He leans sideways precariously until his head touches against Fai’s, and they’re walking curved in to each other. Impractical, but kind of nice.

“Yeah, and what does that make you?”

(fin)

**Author's Note:**

> ... and they all lived sappily ever after. THE END.
> 
> Brief aside: mistletoe poisoning actually causes 'acute gastrointestinal problems including stomach pain and diarrhea along with low pulse', according to Wikipedia, but i figured things would work differently for Mokona seeing as she is a magical construct and not a human being.


End file.
